First man I unraveled myself to smelt of cedar wood, alfalfa and hay. He was of the earth. As brazen as rock; as mercurial as the sea.
Four years my senior, I let him guide me. Through naive wonder I ignored his wicked grin, the kind that said, “I am the alpha and the omega of my universe. You are but a distant star.”
He soiled my dresses in blood. Cut out my innocence with deft surgeons hands. Corrupted the sum of me, leaving black sludge where pristine beaches once lay.
He fucked three woman. I made love to only one man. I made love to one man and three women by default of his actions—-
One woman with tainted sheets who tainted my bed thanks to him.
The other two lovers to follow weren’t very remarkable at all. I swallowed their false starts and callow confessions simply because I was wanted.
Not as I should have been wanted (like I was a tender daisy you fear picking in the sunshine or a beloved family heirloom to be treasured). I was wanted as a body to be plucked: all my juices drained for the harvest.
I crumbled with each touch. Repulsed by myself; disgusted by how easy it was and is not to love.
So, I wrote to ease the ache inside my breast. I wrote to smother the shame of all I carried. I drowned the past in inkwells. I shared these thoughts too freely. A wolf soon snuck inside my henhouse to make a pretty meal of me.
He never felt my flesh. He lived under a different sky and breathed a different air than I. He won me by being wounded himself.
I drank his bitterness as if it were a fine wine. I ate his contempt of women (of me) like it were some sort of communion. He reminded me to hate myself constantly while praising me of my use of words.
I broke free of him. But, sometimes, at night, I swear he’s whispering into my ear again. He’s saying, “I left you more shattered than I found you. I left you because you deserved to be left.”
The fiance scoffed at these men. Jackals he called them. Jackals for tearing me into too many pieces. Jackals for ignoring how I beamed like a yellow umbrella in the rain.
And saviors he called them.
Saviors for leading me in circles to him. Saviors for pushing all my pieces into trashcans so he could later scavenge them, and make a mosaic out of my misery.
He pulled me along with him. Swept me up in the security of his world. Swept me up in the tornado of his lies—-
When his glass house cracked and fractured beneath our feet, I waited for him to clean the wounds it inflicted. I had shards of glass imbedded in my skin in every which way. He never came. Never even said goodbye.
Oh, broken . Broken. Broken. I was shattered again. Fingers agitatedly searching in the dark for one red thread. My invisible tether linked as the twin heart to my single one. My one precious string of fate.
Red as the blush of my first kiss. Red as the apple plucked from my youth. Red as the hope stitched into the fabric of a long since tattered wedding dress.
I plucked and I pulled at time itself. I plucked and pulled until I felt a swift pull back, a gentle tug that sent warm shivers up my spine. The pull of you.
Yours the thread that is my thread. Yours the name that always hung finest upon my tapestry, yet I was too blind to see until first your eyes spied mine. Until I swallowed the moonbeams of your heart.
They tasted crisp. Cool. Like the fresh dew which lingers after an autumn rain storm. Like the thrill of your first drink settling on your tongue, all sharp with alcohol and sweet with rebellion.
You, the last man I’ll ever unravel myself to. The last “I love you” to escape my lips. The last thought before I fall backward towards sleep and the land of dreamer’s dust. My first brush with happiness—
My final destination. My forever lover. My future. My dear heart. My you. My everything swirling inside warm flesh, sweet sinew and beautiful bone. My truest friend.
I have finally come home.